Winter Green
by St. Elsewhere
Summary: How I think Panem came to be. Thrice reposted. Now in HD.
1. Chapter 1

**Third repost. Edited for grammar/spelling/loliwasaretardbackthen.**

**So, enjoy. **

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><p>The climatologist bounced up and down on the seat of the taxi as it drove through the streets of New York. The car was a very old model, real rubber tyres, and not the toughened plastic alloy that was so popular in cities nowadays. The air conditioner was cold, freezing the sweat that had accumulated on the climatologist's head.<p>

Dr. Everdeen was nervous, though there was no way to tell. The only betrayal of his emotions was the way he wrung his hands as they lay in his lap. What he held in his head was huge. Massive. Life changing. World ending.

Maybe world beginning.

"We're here," said the driver, stopping at the curb and interrupting Everdeen's thoughts.

"Thank you, sir," Everdeen said, paying the man and tipping him generously.

He stepped out of the cab, holding his breath and closing the door as soon as possible. Even now, the filter system in the taxi would be working away, banishing the toxic outside air and replacing it with artificial air.

The man fumbled for a mask, clamped it over his face, and breathed in. The cab pulled away from the curb as the climatologist stared at the building. Plastic trees lined the doorway, which was locked and barred, thin wood covering the three inch thick door of solid steel in the middle of the door. It was suicide not to have an airtight door. Everdeen stared sadly around the world he saw. The toxins in the air gave the street a hazy look, collected at the worn edges of the plastic trees because real ones wouldn't grow anymore.

_Should the public be warned?_

His thoughts grew heavy as he gazed around. Humans had done this. The people all around him, those strangers in the corner, _he _had caused this.

What right did they have, really? They had destroyed the earth, and the earth was about to take its revenge. What right did _he _have to interrupt it?

He wondered if he really should inform the president, if those all around him were really worth such costly solution.

Everdeen quickly made his decision, and walked away from the door, down the path, the air disrupted as he moved past.

His breathing inside the mask quickened, and he became aware of what he was about to do. It was worth it. It was all worth it.

"Sir?" A hand touched the climatologist's shoulder, and he jumped roughly three feet in the polluted air.

He straightened his coat, and turned.

A man in a black evening suit, complete with bowtie, stood there. He also had a gasmask on, and an earpiece was screwed into his ear.

The climatologist despaired inside, knowing that his plan was foiled. Overhead, the pneumatic tubes that carried the millions of people around the country hissed.

Everdeen sucked in the artificial air and shrugged the hand off, walking back to the hotel where the president was waiting incognito for him.

He opened the door, waited for the filter to do its job, and peeled off the mask, sticking it in the receptacle. The inner door hissed open, and the man stepped into the hotel proper.

It was ornate, in a twentieth century way. Dr. Everdeen almost snorted. Why were they bothering to conserve something so far in the past when outside no one can breathe the air? The human race seemed more concerned about preserving the past then the present. Well, for better or worse, the ozone layer will be fixed. The climatologist could predict that much.

"Sir," said another man in a suit. There was no question of who the climatologist was. He wouldn't have made it inside they didn't know.

The climatologist nodded again and ascended the oak stairs, marvelling at the extinct wood. It was so beautiful. All those natural things, totally destroyed by the humans. He wished he'd never even come to Washington.

A panorama presented itself at the top of the stairs, glass protecting the hotel from the outside world. It was unbroken apart from evenly spaced doors made of the same material.

He went to the one marked _5 _and pushed the small red button beside it. A section of the glass darkened and reformed into a smoky grey keypad, distinguishable from the rest of the door. The man fished around in his pocket for a plastic card from his pocket. He pushed it against the scanner with pulsed gently beneath the keypad, before typing in a seven digit number. He pushed _enter_, and then stepped back, replacing the card in his pocket.

He pulled the door open and stepped into the console, making sure he was standing in the centre, and that there was no clothing or anything caught.

A huge mechanical man o' war, long pneumatic tubes it's tentacles, guided itself overhead. One of 'tentacles' affixed itself to the roof of the cubicle, the roof hissing as it slid open. A suction of air started, flapping Everdeen's coat around his legs. Finally, the pressure became strong, and the climatologist was lifted from the ground, sent spinning up to the body of the man o' war.

He was sucked into the body and then out again, travelling downwards into the channel that lay behind the hotel. The man closed his eyes and tried to relax, unsuccessfully trying to think of something other then what he had come to say to the president.

He was sucked out of the water and into the sky again, to a room that was simply hovering in the air. Finally, he was placed in a cubicle like the one he left.

Pausing only to smooth his hair, the climatologist strode out of the cubicle, into the room proper.

It was spacious and well appointed, with wood and chrome seemingly the theme. Two guards stood next to the doors, but other than that, there was no other occupant in the room except the president of the United States himself.

He was short, but thin, with kind eyes and white hair. He sat at a desk, next to a large crystal computer screen, sipping tea from a cup.

The president placed his cup on the desk and leaned back in the office chair he sat in, the gel sacks altering themselves to his new position.

"Dr. Everdeen," he said, steepling his fingers. "Nice to see you."

"I wish I could say the same for you," Everdeen said, attempting a smile.

"Indeed. I hope these aren't too trying of circumstances?" President Snow asked. His tone was light, but the undercurrent was of something close to panic.

The United States now controlled over five and a half billion people, taking over what was once Australia, most of Europe, and East Asia. All of these people depended on the President, some more than others. He could not afford to have something as major as what Dr. Everdeen was about to show him out of his control.

The smile slid off the climatologist's face as he crossed to the computer screen. It was gas and thermal technology, and Everdeen barely had to touch it.

He brought up the findings of the Observatory, and several other images. Several other models and scales joined the others on the screen as crumpled pieces of virtual paper. The President frowned. This didn't look good.

"Right," Everdeen said, grey eyes staring seriously at the President. "As you know, the air outside is so toxic that it is immediately hazardous to human health."

The President nodded. The air was a sore-spot, and he was putting everything he could towards fixing it.

On the screen, Everdeen smoothed out a piece of paper, unfolding it so it took up half the screen. It showed a simple bar graph, the bars glowing a softly pulsing blue. It started at 2254 and continued to 2454. At the side, a single symbol, O2, was present. The numbers ranged from 3000 to 0.

"Over the past two hundred years," Everdeen began, "Myishi has allowed us to use their observatory to observe ozone levels." The instant Everdeen said 'ozone', the President got a really bad feeling. A really, _really_ bad feeling.

"As you can see from the graph, the sample we gather is getting bigger and bigger, and the amount of actual ozone is getting smaller and smaller.

"At the rate of deterioration, my team and I have predicted that by this time in five years, the ozone layer will have completely dissipated, and the Earth will be completely exposed to the sun's UV rays. This will mean that everything not strengthened will be fried, including humans. In additions, many, many fires will start as the rays ignite the gasses in the air. What's left of the polar caps will melt, and we predict that this will swallow everything under twelve meters above sea level. There is nothing you can do to stop this happening."

The President paled visibly. "So many will die... so many..."

Everdeen nodded.

"While a short-term solution is not within our reach, my team and I proposed a long term one."

He smoothed out another piece of paper, this one showing a large sketch, worn and showing many crease marks. It showed a large, intricate machine, outlined in a strong hand. The title above it simply read _Hope._

"As you know," his voice took on a sad turn, "The satellite was sabotaged. It crashed back into Earth, killing all onboard and shattering so badly that very few parts of it were found. The only reason I still have this is because I was drawing it the morning of the scheduled sampling. It was while we were sampling that the sabotage happened."

The President bowed his head, remembering the fifty scientists and well over two hundred other employees that had been on the satellite. "What does this do?" he asked after a customary minute of silence.

The climatologist smiled for the first time. "It repairs the ozone layer."

The President exhaled in relief. "How long will it take?"

"If it's started within the next nine months, it should take about five years to build."

"So," the President said. "The disaster can be averted."

"I suppose," said Everdeen. "But, when the ozone layer finally depletes to zero, it will most likely burn all the toxic gasses in the atmosphere. We'd be able to walk around outside without gas masks." Everdeen took on a wistful tone as he said it.

"But, still so many people..." the President said.

"Aye," said Everdeen, slipping into the slight Irish accent he always got when he was excited. "This is what I propose. We build the machine and deploy it a month before the deadline." Deadline. It had a name now. "This will expose the world to the UV rays for a single day. This _will _result in massive amounts of damage to the surface of the world. But it will get rid of a lot of the pollution."

The President leaned back in his chair. He exhaled, looking far older than he did twenty minutes ago. Everdeen clicked his fingers and the screen blackened.

"What about the people?" he asked.

"Move them underground. That's the only sollution I can think of. Most everything natural on the earth will be ruined, so plants and animals will need to be kept underground, too. We will lose thousands of natural things on our earth, but not everything. It's the best we could come up with."

Outside the gasses whirled, and crickets would be chirping if they still existed.

The scientist stood quietly, bunched in anticipation.

Finally, the President opened his eyes.

"I'll do it." The three words echoed around the room, and it seemed something as momentous as those three words needed a more spectacular arrival.

"It will cost a lot, both in money and biological terms," the climatologist reiterated.

"But weighed against the survival of the human race and the world itself, what else can I do?"

The climatologist nodded, walked out of the room, and was sent spinning back down to Earth, all the while pondering what was going to happen next.

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><p><strong>[stay tuned for next week's installment]<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**4/07/2011: I was originally planning this to be three, maybe four chapters, but the general outline I have in my head is more than ten chapters long. This will probably take me three or more years to finish, because I'm entirely incapable of keeping an updating schedule, but I will finish it this time. I promise.**

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><p>Everdeen surveyed the machine that would save them through the sparkling wrap-around glass of the observation deck.<p>

It was huge, standing three hundred metres tall and fifty-five metres wide. It had strange appendages and arms on it, but was roughly conicular, wider at the bottom than the top. This was the final piece of the project, due to reach the main structure by the first day of exposure.

Three point two trillion American dollars it had cost, but if it saved everyone like it was designed to do, it would be worth every cent.

It was the day before the apocalypse was set to occur. The governments of the world had begun to shelter people under the ground, using existing basements, caves, catacombs, anything, to ensure that part of the human race would survive.

At present, Everdeen and his team of three hundred were in a glass spire set in the middle of Antarctica. The hole in the ozone layer had started there, so therefore it was the perfect place to begin repairing the world.

Everdeen crossed to the metal stairs, tromping down them to the next level. The next level from the observation deck was the surveying floor, and Everdeen walked up to the head scientist, the one directly under him.

"How's the project going, Robert?" he asked the head scientist, as though he didn't already know.

Dr. Robert Shiekman looked at Everdeen with serious green eyes. "As you can see from this," he said, giving Everdeen a viewing pane, "It's going exactly according to plan. The entire thing is finished, everything is ensured, and all that is left is to wait for Sunday."

"Excellent," Everdeen said, smiling. He was quite for several minutes before asking abruptly, "How long have we known each other, Robert?"

Shiekman blinked at the unexpected question. "Since elementary school, Samuel," he said.

"And to think," Everdeen mused, "That one day we would be working together on the very thing that could save the world."

Shiekman grinned. "It certainly hadn't been the first thing that came to mind when I decided to become a scientist."

"Definitely not," Everdeen said, smiling too. "I have to call President Snow. Thank you for all the work you've done, my friend."

Shiekman nodded and turned back to his work, while Everdeen walked down another set of stairs, to the communications area. Many small cubicles surrounded one large one, the larger for official communications, the smaller ones for the crew to contact their families, safe underground.

Everdeen held up his hand, waited for the screen to calibrate, and snapped his fingers. This opened up the dial menu, and Everdeen swished his finger to scroll the list down to the number simply titled 'President'.

He snapped his fingers again and a replica of an old phone appeared, complete with curly wiring and a rotary dial, with the words 'Dialling President' underneath in backlit green.

The dial tone finished and the screen changed, showing the President sitting in a well-worn desk.

"Everdeen," President Snow said, staring at the crystal communicator in front of his desk. "How goes the project?"

"Excellent," Everdeen said, proceeding to tell the President. They exchanged a few pleasantries after that, and the President assured the climatologist that his family was being well-looked after.

"Thank you very much, sir," Everdeen said seriously.

"You're very welcome. You're the key to the survival of the Earth," Snow said. "Coincidentally, I have news—"

The communicator crackled, and the screen went black, the image of the President disappearing in a wave of static as the roar of it filled the air. Everdeen covered his ears and waved his arm, muting the volume.

Everdeen redialled, but the cool female voice informed him that he was out of a service area. He pulled the cell from his pocket, looking at the screen. No signal there, either.

A loud cracking sound filled the air.

What was that? thought Everdeen as he crossed to the window, toggling it so that the tint lightened enough for him to see outside. Multiple other cracks rent the air, an alarm siren going off, but this faded off into the distance as Samuel Everdeen stared. Because, outside, it was Hell.

The ice boiled and a sea of hairline cracks rent it into thousands of smaller peices, bulging as though there a vent of gas pent up underneath. Steam made the air cloudy, and Everdeen could see the ice melting.

Dr. Shiekman's voice echoed out of the speaker mounted on the wall behind him.

"Attention all staff." His voice was brisk and business-like in tone. "It seems the Ozone layer has defied expectations, and has disintegrated a day earlier than we calculated. We need all crucial staff in the top three levels, for emergency launch of the final part of the Project."

Everdeen crossed to the elevator, selecting the button for the main Project floor. The Project was launched and controlled from this floor. It shot up to the relevant floor, and in less than three seconds, the doors dinged open to chaos.

People were running everywhere, the general chatter made worse by the continuous cacophony of noise outside.

"Sir," said a supervisor, grabbing Everdeen's arm. "We have a problem."

He led the climatologist to Shiekman, who was surveying a large observation screen.

"It's bad," said Shiekman. "Some idiot, some absolute moron, left a ground floor door open. The water jammed up the circuits, so I can't close it. I've had to remotely deactivate the lift and the stairs from reaching the first floor, but there are dozens of points where the water can reach the second and so forth. In addition to this, one of the steel poles we sunk into the bedrock had been weakened in two places. We need to launch the final piece of the Project now and evacuate immediately afterwards, before this whole tower collapses like a house made of cards."

The general whine of the alarm was not helping Everdeen's headache, but he persevered, nodded before yelling, "Quiet!" at the panicked employees.

"Launchers, please go to your stations. We need to send the final piece on its way, now." The launchers immediately walked to their cubicles, sitting down and plugging in their earphones.

"Water has breached the second floor," Shiekman said, a slight hint of panic in his voice that wasn't there before. A deep metal groan reverberated from below.

"All staff to the fifth floor!" A new voice came from the speaker, a mildy nervous and decidedly male one.

"Now, is the rocket prepped?" Everdeen muttered to himself, plugging in his VR goggles. It seemed that the rocket was perfect actually, but he could see water spilling into the base of the launch chute.

"Five minutes, I can spare five minutes," Everdeen said to himself, and then out loud, "Darken the glass, open skylight! Let's get this thing launched!"

"Sir, all global communications have ceased," a supervisor said to Shiekman, who had placed himself next to Everdeen. "We can't get a lock on anything."

Shiekman chewed his lip and dismissed the man.

"T-minus four!" said Everdeen, as overhead the skylight began to open. "Begin the engines!"

He pushed a virtual red button, and a deep bass rumbling began below.

"Third and fourth floors breached, the outside glass is breaking, sir!" Shiekman said.

"T-minus three," Everdeen said, ignoring him long-time friend.

A horrifying crack split the air, and the entire tower shuddered. The communicators on the west wall shattered, crystal chips spilling out onto the floor.

"T-minus two!" Everdeen yelled, frantically touching buttons. Two minutes, two minutes, two minutes...

"All staff please move to the eleventh, twelfth and thirteen floors!" the voice on the speaker was frantic. A terrible snapping sound filled the air, and somewhere far below, a wet-sounding smash occurred. "The elevator has been destroyed. Please use the stairs!"

"T-minus fifty-eight seconds!" The tower gave another horrendous shriek, and a crack ran up one side of the wall.

"T-minus thirty! Engines seventy-five percent!" The crack opened slightly, setting fire to a couple of cubicles, the carpet, and anything the sunlight touched.

"Fifteen seconds!" Everdeen shrieked. "Ten...eight...five...three...one! Engines one hundred percent. Liftoff velocity achieved."

The tower started shaking as the rocket began to fire up even more. Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to rise, gaining height and velocity as it left the tower, shooting into the sky. The people of the tower stopped everything they were doing for a single heartbeat, watching through tinted windows as the final part of the Project rose majestically in the air, the bass rumbles of its engines shaking the already weakened structure.

Then tower was in chaos, the read haze of fire wherever the sunlight touched, the workers still alive running around crazily. The din was horrendous; Everdeen could barely hear himself think.

He threw off the VR goggles as a long crack ran through his screen, the piece of technology buzzing like an angry bee.

"Quickly, to the thirteenth floor!" he yelled to those who were listening. He crossed to the metal stairs, which were melting slightly in the glare of the unfiltered sunlight.

The spatial teleporter which would take all the staff to the underground retreat was located on the observation floor. Perhaps it would have been better to place one on each floor, but there had been budget restraints, and no one expected this turn of events.

Thankfully, the observation deck was still intact, the glass so darkly tinted that it was almost black. In the corner, the teleporter glowed.

"All to the observation deck!" said the PA system. "Make sure that you pass the twelfth floor very carefully!"

There was a mad rush up the staircase, as water started to pool on the fifth floor, the tower swaying slightly as glass smashed on the bottom floors. It then swayed even more, and was finally rocking as the structure began to lose pieces of itself into the ocean of water that was now all around them.

The light on top of the teleporter glowed a serene green, oblivious to the destruction all around it.

Then the world seem to lose its balance as the defeated metal girders that were holding the tower up gave in and snapped, sending the building plummeting to the right and into the Pacific ocean with a wet smash that left everyone's ears ringing, though that was the least of their problems.

All of the staff were thrown to the side as water poured in through the staircase, which was now to the left of them. But worst of all, the teleporter lay on its side, the light wavering on top.

There was only about thirty people in the room, including Shiekman and Everdeen. They hefted the teleporter upright, praying that it would work.

"Shiekman, you go first," Everdeen said, calling to the others to form a line.

"But, sir, your children—"

"GO!" Everdeen roared, shoving Shiekman into the compartment and pressing the green button.

He dissipated completely, the teleporter doing its job to perfection. But just after Shiekman's form disappeared, the green light on top of it wavered again and, this time, winked red. Meanwhile, cracks started to appear in the ceiling, and water continued to rush into the observation deck.

He shoved another nameless man into the teleporter, and pressed the button. The man's form wavered for a couple of seconds, and Everdeen had almost begun to hope that it would work. But his figure remained solid, and nothing happened.

Before Everdeen or his crew of twenty-eight had any time to worry about what this meant, a large section of polarized glass fell onto the floor, crushing twelve, and the rest, including Everdeen, were completely fried, exposed to the sun's unfiltered rays.

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><p>In the middle of the ocean, a strange vessel floated. It was cracked, made out of darkly tinted glass, and smashed at one end. There was no movement aboard the odd looking structure, and after about five minutes, it gave up fighting physics and sank below the surface with a wet pop.<p> 


End file.
